


Fantasizing

by lactoria



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lactoria/pseuds/lactoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn’t help that he likes to be close to you—too close—when he speaks, his scent wafting within your vicinity whenever he leans in, breath but an invisible peck on your cheeks.  He knows you’re not really listening to him; thankfully he can’t read your thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasizing

You’ve never wanted someone in so many ways, never wanted to own someone so completely, taste them so intimately, mark them so infinitely.

Kankri is as desirable as he is detestable, which is an abhorrently confounding blend.  

What you wouldn’t give to sully those lips, to swab the inside of his contemptible mouth with your bulge.  You follow the casual slide of his hands down his hips, mentally replacing them with your teeth.  Your rage swells as thick as your arousal over the sight of him stretching, his dumpy sweater climbing high upon his belly.  And his ass is so perfectly plump outlined by form-fitting leggings that you ache to cup it between your hands—maybe spread the round cheeks apart and tongue him until he melts and screams.

It doesn’t help that he likes to be close to you—too close—when he speaks, his scent wafting within your vicinity whenever he leans in, breath but an invisible peck on your cheeks.  He knows you’re not really listening to him; thankfully he can’t read your thoughts.

Your eyes ping-pong between his eyes and his lips, feigning regard, but your pan is bulge-deep in perversion—or, more literally, bulge-deep in  _him_.

The Kankri inside your fantasy lays flat on his back with his turtleneck rolled up to his neck and wadded up in his mouth.  You’ve got his legs spread open wide for you and his nook is gaping from being stretched and filled only seconds before.  Lazily you ease your lurid red bulge back inside him, dip into the delicious canal and slowly recede to the wiggly tip.  Inclining forward you tweak one of his pebbled nipples as you sink your turgid shaft back into him, nice and smooth, listening to him garble your name into the fabric as you settle in to the hilt with a nice satisfying  _squelch._

Pressed flush you rock your hips just a fraction and roll them, your hungry bulge swirling around in the tight cache.

His eyes roll back in his head as the pressure builds, as he is literally excavated by your pulsing member.

Shakily he tries to grab his own bulge, but you swat him away and growl, “there will be plenty of time, you greedy slut.”

"…Karkat?"

You startle, blink, and oh  _yes, this is still happening isn’t it._

"Wh—why are you hard?"

"…what."

Wearing a repulsed expression, he nods sharply to the very sudden lump in the front of your pants.

"Do you find this  _arousing_?”  His voice is tense; you want to laugh but you clear your throat and leer instead.

"Yes.  Yes, I do."

For a dead guy he sure can blush.

"How very triggering."  You expect him to run off and never cross you again, but he surprises you by suddenly grabbing you by your collar.

"…come with me, Karkat.   _This instant._ _”_

"Uh, am I in trouble?"  Your fantasy Kankri is drooling through his fabric gag and begging to suck you off.

The real Kankri is glaring at you with such disdain you’re not sure how to feel.

He turns and yanks you, hard, by the neck of your sweater, almost pinching.

"Lets just say you’ve got some serious intensive training in store."

He leaves you to wonder what exactly  _is_ in store as he drags you off, past both your friend groups who look on worriedly.  It’s apparent they’ve never seen Kankri so assertively angry, and for a second—for just a split second—you’re concerned for your well-being.

But then your fantasy dancestor springs back into your mind’s eye, wanton and amorous, his lips trembling around your saliva-streaked length, and you’re all too eager to get your teacher in private to hopefully work through these triggers.


End file.
